Heft - By Liz Moore Page 0,68

and starts to walk down the hallway but Lindsay jerks free and stays facing me.

Then she pulls me by the elbow into an empty classroom and shuts the door behind us.

I am facing her. I should tell her everything. I imagine it.

I think you’re an asshole, Lindsay Harper says.

I stare at her.

I know what you did with that girl Thanksgiving night, says Lindsay Harper, and I think you’re an asshole.

I stare.

What are you talking about, I say.

Kel. Kel, says Lindsay Harper. Kel. Stop it. I knew what your reputation was before we started . . . whatever. It’s just. I just never wanted to feel stupid.

Her face is red, red. Her ears are red. She is pointing at me, one tight finger extending from a bright little fist.

Where are you getting your information, I ask. My voice is so quiet I can barely hear it myself.

It doesn’t matter, says Lindsay, and then she starts crying, two tears followed by several. She puts her hands over her face completely.

Tell me, I say. Tell me. Matt Barnaby?

The bell rings which means next period has started. Neither one of us moves.

She is still standing in front of me, fully upright, her back straight, her hands covering her face.

Tell me, Lindsay, I say. Please.

I move toward her and put one hand on each of her shoulders and she doesn’t move.

I say, I want to tell you something. I want to tell you something.

I say it twice.

I pull her head to my chest and for a minute she is still and calm. I feel her breathing slow down. Then she slips out from under my arms and goes out of the classroom, shutting the door behind her quietly. I sit on the floor right where I am because I’m afraid my legs won’t hold me. If I could cry I would but I can’t right now.

I sit in the classroom for the whole of third period. I’m missing Pottsy’s class but I couldn’t go to it anyway. Lindsay’s in it. It’s not important. I crawl under several desks to get to the wall and lean my head against it and reel with aloneness.

I try telling myself things like There’s always Arizona, but the idea of going and finding my absent father makes me hate myself. Why should I do that, I think. Why, when he’s had fourteen years to come find me.

When the bell rings I walk slowly to the cafeteria, knowing I will have no one to sit with, knowing Trevor Cohen will not let me sit at his table. I sit at a different table, throwing the entire system off. Two junior girls glare at me. I have nothing to keep busy with. Nothing to read or look at. I stare at the dirt under my fingernails.

The next time I lift my head I’m facing two boys: Cossy Van Konig. And the bastard Matt Barnaby.

I don’t even think I don’t even talk.

I get out of my chair and walk toward them. I stop when I’m three inches from Matt Barnaby. I tower over him. I breathe in deeply so my chest expands. I lower my chin at him.

I’m gonna kill you, I say, and I mean it, and it isn’t me talking, or maybe this was me all along and maybe I didn’t know it.

You’re fucking dead, I say.

What are you . . . says Matt Barnaby, and he puts a hand on my chest to stop me and I shove it off.

Don’t touch me, I say. You’re fucking dirt.

I’m throwing my chin out at him. I’m swaying side to side.

Look, man, says Matt, and he looks so scared and dismayed that I feel bad for him for half of one second. And then I feel nothing.

Cossy goes, Kel, Jesus. Calm down.

I ignore him.

You told her, I say to Matt Barnaby. You fucking told her, you little bitch. You couldn’t get with her so you told her instead.

His face changes and in it I see an admission of guilt.

Without hesitating I reel back and punch him as hard as I can. Straight across his face. I don’t aim. I think I get his jaw and nose both. I haven’t punched anyone since I was thirteen or fourteen and it feels good, it feels real.

The bastard Matt Barnaby is lifted off the floor. His hands go straight out to his right and left. He is thrown backward then he is on his ass on the floor. His hands come down last. He takes a